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It was the classic silly summer love story: two people meet, they flirt (shamelessly, and maybe sometimes badly), they spend a lot of nights talking and looking up at the stars, and then…
Well then they kiss, or hook up, or do something sexual that Louis pretends to know about but doesn’t, really. He and Harry have done everything but the “and then.” And therein lies the problem.
“Can’t believe the summer is over next week,” Harry says. His head rests on Louis’ tummy, and Harry looks up at him with wide green eyes. “And my family goes back to Boston.” He sighs, turning to look out toward the ocean. The beach their families are staying on is private, but there are still enough people there that they’re not alone, really, even if it feels like that. All the same, Louis reaches out and tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.
“Wouldn’t trade this summer with you for anything,” he says. He means it, of course, but he’s also leaving out the steady mantra of 'I wish you’d kiss me' that’s been running through his head for the past two weeks, ever since he and Harry went from just flirting to holding hands and cuddling and Harry lying there very close to his dick like he is right now. Damn it. He’s not trying to be a perv, but the thought of it gets him a little hard. He hopes Harry doesn’t notice.
“Is there anything you regret?” Harry asks. He’s still staring toward the ocean and Louis wonders if he’s noticing that Louis is getting hard. Maybe it’s not that bad. Thinking about it makes it worse. Fuck. “Anything you wish you’d done that you didn’t get to?” He turns back to look at Louis again, his lower lip caught between his teeth.
“Wish we’d kissed,” Louis says before he can stop himself. It’s hot out on the beach but he feels his face heat up from embarrassment instead of the sun, and he turns his eyes away from Harry and looks off toward where he thinks his sisters might be building sandcastles. Now might be a good time to check on them, actually–
“We could.” Harry rolls off of Louis’ stomach so that he’s resting his chin in his hands. He looks hopeful, maybe. Eager, even? He inches awkwardly closer to Louis’ face. “If you’d really regret it otherwise.”
“How would you feel about it?” Louis asks, trying to sound nonchalant when his heart feels like it’s beating fast enough to explode from his chest and fly away.
“I want to,” Harry says. He’s close enough that his face is right at Louis’ shoulder, close enough that Louis could sit up a bit and lean toward him to connect their lips. He could. Should. Might.
Harry does it for him, surging forward and kissing him quickly, then backing away a bit as if worried he’s done something wrong. It’s all Louis needs though, the last bit of encouragement in really making him want to kiss Harry properly. He puts his hand round the back of Harry’s head and tips him closer, their lips meeting for longer this time. It’s soft, wetter than he expected, but lovely all the same. Harry kisses him back with intensity, and pretty soon they’re lying there on the beach, arms around one another as they share messy kisses.
“I’m gonna kiss you for the rest of the week,” Louis says when they finally take a breath. “Everyone’s gonna hate us.”
—
It isn’t a lie. Louis kisses Harry and Harry kisses Louis. For the final week of their summer vacation, they’re practically inseparable. They promise to write one another, to call or text or facetime. But then it’s nearly time for school and neither of them does.
Louis pulls on his leather jacket before the first day of school, thinking about how nice it’s going to be to be a senior. Ruling the school. Blowing off anything he wants to. His day goes as he expects it might: boring classes, telling his friends the story of getting together with Harry (he might embellish a little– ok, a lot –but nobody needs to know that), and hanging out in the parking lot once school is over.
He’s managed to avoid his ex for most of the day, but he sees her walking toward his car and leans back against it, hoping he looks as cool as he thinks he does. He gives her a nod in greeting and she steps aside to reveal someone else: a tall, attractive, green-eyed boy with soft curls and pink lips. “Harry?!”
“Louis!”
Harry says that his mother was offered a massive promotion not long after they went home, and ended up doing a whirlwind move cross country. His phone was broken when they started packing, and he lost Louis’ number, which is why he hadn’t called.
Louis is thrilled. Beyond, really. He can feel his enthusiasm bubbling over when he takes a look around and notices that his friends are staring at him, and not in the awestruck, idolizing way they usually do. Fuck. He immediately tries to play it cool, ignoring the twist in his stomach when Harry’s smile drops and he ends up turning around and walking away in a huff.
His ex catches his eye and smirks before turning around. She planned this, somehow, and Louis wants to hate her– does, kind of –but knows a lot of this is his fault. His friends are laughing about Harry leaving, and Louis tries to laugh along. This year isn’t going to look like what he bargained for.